


Wolf Bait

by JustJym



Series: The White Werewolf [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, bunch of oc's that aren't important, idk what else you want me to put here, monster fucking, werewolf rapes jaskier, you see the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22145548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJym/pseuds/JustJym
Summary: Jaskier is sent out to lure a werewolf from it's den...
Series: The White Werewolf [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594000
Comments: 11
Kudos: 264





	Wolf Bait

**Author's Note:**

> A sad story, about Jaskier getting raped by a werewolf. Tried my best to put this in the games universe, which is what I'm more familiar with.

Jaskier sat upon a boulder, nestled atop a hill overlooking the small village of Blackbough. He strummed away on his lute, humming a jaunty tune with a soft smile on his face, eyes closed and swaying gently side-to-side. Each note was precise and rehearsed, a song he'd spent months practicing finally reaching its final stages and ready for performance at the tavern. Lost in the words singing in his head, footsteps stomped behind him, the young man completely oblivious to them.

A heavy hand slapped across his head, throttling him out of his inner symphony and nearly knocking him off the small boulder. He twisted around, hand rubbing at the spot he was stuck, brow furrowed with a mix of anger and worry. Behind him stood a pudgy man, late in his summers, arms crossed against a thick chest and his expression furious. “M-Mr. Weldwiet!” Jaskier said with a shaken voice, his heart already pounding with anxiety.

“Th' fuck ye' been, boy?” the old farm bellowed, face red with anger. “Me and me sons spen' all day in th' blazin' sun, and ye' hide away up here, fiddlin' your little harp?”

“It's a lu-”

“I don' care what th fuck it is!” Weldwiet barked, causing the younger man to rear back into his shoulders. “'m tired of ye' skippin' out on ye' chores ev'ry day! Fuck'n disgrace!”

Jaskier looked at the ground, turning away from his boss, curling his lips inward to fight back his emotions. “I'm sorry, Mr. Weldwiet. But I'm not cut out to be a farmhand.”

The farmer's eyes nearly bugged out his skull at the statement, and raised his hand against, striking the young man harder, sending him crashing to the ground. With a yelp, Jaskier thrust out his hands to catch himself, but it was too late, collapsing atop his lute and suddenly fearing the worst. He'd spent two summers saving coin to buy the lute from the traveling tradesmen, and now he had an angry employer and a busted lute under his belly.

He raised up, flipping the lute over only to see a couple strings had broken, but the instrument itself remained unharmed. “Oh thank heavens,” Jaskier sighed with relief, feeling every ounce of tension leave his body, smiling wearily.

With a cry, Jaskier was yanked up onto his knees but his hair, both hands now clawing at the fist holding him up. He felt Weldwiet lean down and breath hotly on his neck, his smell of ale and old cheese oozed from his lips. “Listen 'ere, boy,” the farmer hissed. “'f I find ye' hidin' up 'ere again, play'n yer harp or diddl'n yer cock, 'll throw yer ass int' th' gutter where ye' belong!”

With a hard shove, Weldwiet threw Jaskier back onto the ground and stormed off, leaving the young musician to wallow in his thoughts. The brunet kept a palm against his head, as if it would help with the pain, all the while fingering his lute listlessly, plucking one of the viable strings. Tears stung his eyes as the past few minutes replayed over and over in his mind. He felt like shit. Sure, he should have been doing his work, but when the lusty call of music came to him, he couldn't help himself but to answer. He sighed and took up his lute, shuffling his feet down the hill, knowing he needed to do what work was left before he really was tossed into the streets.

– –

“Look's like th' wolf 'elped 'imself to me cattle again,” another farmer said to Weldwiet, Jaskier over hearing the conversation as he tied a bale of hay he'd spent the last hour reaping. He let his eyes peer at the two men talking as he expertly tied the ropes blindly, spotting the distress on the farmer's face.

“Bloody hell,” Weldwiet cursed, spitting at the his feet. “Somethin' needs t' be done about th' bastard.”

“Word 'round is Edund's callin' a meetin' t' come up wit' a solution,” the other farmer frowned. “Wants t' call it by nightfall.”

Weldwiet nodded with a grunt and noticed his neighbor glancing behind him, grimacing. He turned to see Jaskier eavesdropping and sneered. “Boy,” he spoke threateningly.

Jaskier quickly turned back to his tying and tugged on the rope to ensure it was tight, then lifted it and made his way for the barn. He found a open space and stored it away, raising up to wipe his brow. He wasn't lying when he said he wasn't cut out for this line of work, most of his mind centered on getting his lute fixed and back to strumming by morning.

However, the ever looming threat of the 'wolf' put the seed of worry in his brain. For months, Blackbough has been plagued with a visit of a wolf; werewolf to be more precise. At first it was just the chickens, then the town dogs that got too courageous, until it started going after cattle. It was only a matter of time before they ran out of livestock and the beast moved on to the townsfolk. He knew having a town meeting would be a good idea, try and figure out how to get rid of it, maybe even pitch in for a Witcher and have it exterminated. Yet, a Witcher hadn't been seen roaming Velen in some time, meaning someone would have to venture out to hunt one down.

He gulped as another thought crossed his mind. If they couldn't find a Witcher, the next best thing would be to send someone out to attempt to slay the beast themselves. How many men would it take before the village was picked clean? Before evacuation to a town that had no room for them? Before everyone was stung out in the streets, entrails painting the houses, just waiting for a Necrophage to catch the scent and desecrate their corpses.

“Jaskier!” a soft, delicate voice called from the barn doors, tearing the young man from his dread.

He spotted Weldwiet's wife, and turned towards her. He gave her a soft smile, doing his best to tuck away all the unsavory thoughts. “Yes, ma'am?” he asked respectfully, happy to see her gentle features. She was a breath of fresh air compared to her husband. A frail, petite woman, with wrinkles decorating her face. She may have been a few summers older than her husband, but the years had treated her kindly.

“Come inside,” she said sweetly, what was left of her teeth still more comforting than the yellowed ones of her husband. “'ve supper on th' table.”

Jaskier frowned and replied, “Mr. Weldwiet still needs me to help him with the baling.”

“Oh hush, love,” she furrowed her brow at him. “Leave th' ol' boar t' me. Now,” she took his hand with her bony fingers and pulled him along with her, “Come 'ave some supper.” As they walked along the path back to their home, she leaned close to him, as if trying to tell a secret, “I even baked ye' an extra sweet roll.”

“Oh, no ma'am,” Jaskier chuckled, placing a hand on his stomach, “You know I have to watch my girlish figure.”

She gently batted at his arm as she giggled. Jaskier grinned back at her, beaming at the joy this woman had brought to his life. Years ago, his parents abandoned him here when their home had been threatened with war. They told him they would come back, but he knew now that it was just a lie to sate him as he cried himself to sleep. If not for Mrs. Weldwiet, he'd have been a starving child on the streets, and even after his adoption, she argued with her husband days on end.

Just another mouth to feed, he'd said. But Mrs. Weldwiet spoiled him like she had her own sons before him. Soon he had a job on the farm, and a normal life with a bed and a warm hearth every night. Getting his lute had been the happiest she had seen him in a long time, and always praised his music, even when he was still learning how to play. She was the only person in this town that supported him, or seemed to love him. But as long as he kept his head low, and stayed to himself, he could forget about the town and focus on the life ahead of him.

He smelt fresh bread and honey glazed mutton in the distance, knowing Mrs. Weldwiet had quiet the feast prepared for him. He knew he'd have to listen to the elder couple argue into the night about him eating before her husband, but her generosity was too much for him to ignore. He thanked her as he sat down and served himself a plate, a pint of ale quenching his thirst.

In this moment, nothing could ruin his spirits.

– –

Jaskier perched himself on a fence, carefully restringing his lute and tuning it to the best of his ability, relying on his ears for the perfect notes. It was dusk, the townsfolk having gathered at the center of the small village, except for Mrs. Weldwiet who stayed behind to scrub her dishes and finish up her laundering. Folks stood huddled near the town's birch tree, some with torches and a few women clutching their babies to their breast.

Edund, the village leader, had emerged ceremoniously from his hut, approaching his people with a grin. Jaskier scoffed at the man since he appointed himself leader after Nilfgaard swept through and conscripted their best men few years past. He wasn't a bad leader, just a cocky man with a big head that often made rash decisions. The fact he was calling a meeting to decide the fate of the wolf was shocking.

“People o' Blackbough,” Edund announced, drawing the attention of the crowd. He stood atop a crate, a man at his left holding a torch, his arms out wide. “'ve called you all 'ere t' discuss our,” he paused, “wolf problem.”

“I say, we 'unt th' beast!” a man shouted, causing the crowd to roar in agreement.

“Kill it!” another yelled.

The people were now in a enraged cry, all screaming various ways to end their torment. Raised fists and torches and pickaxes seemed comical to Jaskier, knowing that so few farmers wouldn't actually be able to kill a werewolf. The town would likely end up dead if they all marched to the wolf's den at the dead of night.

“Silence!” Edund yelled, forcing the people to die down and bring their attention back to himself.

“Call a Witcher!” a woman cried, holding her baby closer, the anger in her voice unmistakable. Jaskier nodded, keeping his eyes on the instrument, praising himself at his handy work. A Witcher was the best idea, and even if it took time to fetch one, the wolf was too occupied eating their livestock. A few more cows would be a better sacrifice than leading the whole village on a hunt that would surely see their end.

Edund shook his head, “No, my dear. A Witcher would take too long t' arrive. We need t' handle this as a village.” No one had much to say after that, Jaskier noting the hushed whispers generating in small groups.

“I say we send someone t' lure th' beast out,” another farmer offered. “That way we can get a jump on 'im.”

A man scoffed drunkly, staggering forward with a bottle of mead in his grasp, pointing an accusatory finger at the farmer, “An' wha'? Sacrifice ou'selves fer nothin'?” 

“No, no,” Edund hushed him, “I think Lindolm 'as a point. Send a man t' lure 'im out, an' we attack 'im together. A brilliant idea.”

“But our numbers are too low,” a middle aged women spoke, her voice shaking, “tis an impossible feat.”

Edund held a hand up at her, anger on his face. “My decision 'as been made. We send a boy out, 'ave 'im lead th' beast to us an' we kill it.”

“But who d' we send?”

Edund smiled, “D' we 'ave any volunteers?”

The town was so silent, Jaskier swore he could he a mouse pissing on a cotton boll. Of course no one wanted to be the bait. There was no guarantee whoever they sent out would make it to their destination. He'd never seen a werewolf before, but he had a pretty good assumption you didn't outrun one. He went back to his lute, finishing up the last string, feeling his pride returning to him.

“I say we send th' orphan.”

Jaskier froze, fingers still, hovering over the strings, eyes locked on the ground at the voice he heard. Slowly, he raised his gaze to see everyone staring at him, but he could only see Weldwiet with a smug grin. “Wha-” Jaskier lost his voice, his grip tightening on the next of his lute.

“'is folks dropped 'im off wit'out a care for 'im,” Weldwiet refused to break the eye contact with Jaskier, knowing full well the message he was sending him. “Misses wouldn' stop 'oundin' me 'til I took 'im under me roof. Been a fuckin' pain in me arse ev'r since.” His last words fell from his lips with a sickening sense of joy, “Send th' boy, nobody will miss 'im.”

The words were vicious and hate filled. He knew Weldwiet hated him, even though he never understood why. The only reason he lived under the farmer's roof was his wife's insisting that a child can't live in the mud. He felt his heart tighten when no one said a word to oppose him. They all stared as if they agreed with Weldwiet.

Jaskier gulped, palms sweating and his heart racing. If he wasn't so stiff he probably would have fallen off the fence. “Jaskier,” Edund's proud voice called, hand held out invitingly. “Please come forward.”

Jaskier was lost in his own head space, unsure of how he got down from the fence and stand next to Edund, lute neck firmly in his grasp, threatening to break it. A large hand clasped his shoulder, lightly shaking him from his stupor. “Don' fret, me boy,” Edund smiled down at him, Jaskier's nervous gaze coming up to meet the leaders. “I 'ave faith in ye'.”

– –

Jaskier found himself standing in the middle of the wood, torch in hand and his lute on his back. He was going to leave it behind but Weldwiet insisted it take “th' blasted thing.” That smile on his face still haunted him as Mrs. Weldwiet cursed her husband in a tongue the brunet didn't understand. He looked behind him, noting the firelight of the village was long gone and he was completely without help or guidance through the trees that was leading him to his doom.

Why him? He didn't have any training in hunting or tracking. Even if he turned around and walked in a straight line he knew he wouldn't be able to find his way back to Blackbough. He knew the village hated him, but he didn't know they would send him to his death just because he was from a different region. His home and family were lost to war and disease, his parents' final goodbye being his abandonment in a small town in Velen. He never asked to be there, and all he wanted was to live freely like his townsfolk.

Now he'd never have the chance.

He swallowed hard, putting one shaky foot in front of the other, stepping closer to his imminent demise. The woods were eerily quiet, the wind rustled leaves his only companion. Every so often, he moved the torch around, trying to survey his surroundings, continuing forward with his heart hammering against his ribs. The more he moved deeper into the forest, the more the torch started wavering in his trembling hand, the brunet worried that he would drop it if he wasn't careful. The last thing he wanted was to be wandering a werewolf's wood without a light.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. It could have been a few minutes, or a few hours. Either way, dawn was a long ways away, but even the sunlight wouldn't save him. It wasn't until the stench of death caught his attention and suddenly sent a wave of fear through him. He froze in his tracks, his body full of shivers as he gradually swung the torch around waiting for the moment when the great wolf head comes into vision and rip his face off. But I never comes.

He manages to spot a cave in the dim light, but to his horror, as he observed further, carcasses of cows, deer and other wildlife littered the ground. He felt his blood run cold when he realized he was at the beast's den.

He should run, he knows he should. He shouldn't continue further and leave while he still has time. He's gotten good at his music, he could become a traveling bard. Make a name for himself, not wander aimlessly and defenseless into a den that obviously housed a werewolf. And yet, for some ungodly reason, he pressed forward.

The cave was cold, more carcasses were piled on the inside than at the entrance and it just made his anxiety pick up more. Wet drips echoed throughout the cave and a high whistle from the wind convinced Jaskier that it was a howl. After a few moments of listening, he sighs and rolls his eyes and mutters, “It's just the wind.”

He raised his torch, and covered his nose, the rancid smell of rot becoming too much for him to bare, and pushed forward. He groaned in disgust when he felt the squish of meat under his foot, raising it and grimacing at the sight of maggots and rotten flesh dripping off his shoe. He scrubbed his boot against the rocky floor and felt bile role into his throat. He swallowed back the impending vomit and began watching the ground to make sure he didn't step into another unsavory surprise.

“Well shit,” he cursed when he met a stone wall. He was filled with a weird mix of relief and fear at the sight of a dead end, meaning two things– the wolf wasn't here, but he had to turn around. He did just that and hurried back to the entrance, which wasn't as far away as he had expected.

He was two steps away from freedom when he heard it. Heavy footsteps followed by a low dragging sound rung in his ears and sent his heart into a panic. He shook away his immediate fear and spun around, looking for hiding spot, but was met with nothing other than filthy corpses. “Fuck,” he spat in a harsh whisper. “fuckfuckfuck!”

When he turned back to the cave entrance, ready to just make a break for it, a thick wolf head was mere inches from his face. He froze, eyes wide and breath lost. The wolf was large, at least another two, maybe two and a half feet on him, long limbs and a hunched gait. The beast was the color of blood and earth, and his fangs were bared, a low, threatening growl rumbling in his throat. Jaskier vocally shivered, trembling as he two a slow step backwards, only to have the wolf equal close the distance.

Jaskier darted his eyes behind the beast, knowing it stood between him and the exit. The only chance he had at survival was only a few feet from him, and he knew he needed to take it. Gathering what courage he had, he swung his torch into the wolf's maw and watched it howl in anger and stagger to the side, giving him just enough time and space to slip by and sprint out of the cave. He lost the torch in the attack, leaving him completely defenseless. But he didn't care, he just knew he needed to run or die.

He ducked and weaved through the trees and forest brush, hoping over roots and fallen limbs, the echoed howl of the wolf behind him only pushing him harder. His breathing was already becoming labored, but the thought of being ripped to pieces by a powerful set of claws and eaten alive urged him to continue. He could hear the growls getting closer and closer behind him, along with slamming paws clawing up the ground.

Tree limbs tugged at his clothes, ripping them open and occasional tear at his skin, feeling the blood trickle down his arms and legs, knowing now that no matter where he ran, the wolf would be able to hunt him down. He spotted a clearing through the trees and darted for it, hoping it meant some sort of civilization was near by. He leaped over a small brook and felt his legs nearly give out when his feet returned to the wet earth. He had to keep going. He just had to!

Through the clearing, his running didn't stop until he found himself skidding to a halt from nearly falling off the edge of a cliff. His arms swung out to try to keep his balance, feeling his heart drop at the sight of a endless fall that awaited him. He spun around when he heard the growling closing in on him, the wolf crouched down onto his hands, crawling towards him. Even though he'd just saved himself from falling from the ledge, a step backwards seemed to be a more forgiving fate.

Unconsciously, he did take that step back, and suddenly felt his body give underneath him. His arms flailed out but it was too late, he was already falling. He immediately squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the wind beneath him, but the sudden yank of his arm was so painful, it pulled him from his acceptance of death. He glanced up, seeing the growling face of the wolf, a massive paw around his arm, preventing him from falling further.

This was it. The end of the road. His life was over.

The beast yanked him up and over the ledge, slamming him on the ground roughly, body rolling across the mud, his face full of dirt and weeds. The wolf released his arm, but it didn't stay away long, flipping him onto his back and lifting him by his torn shirt. Jaskier's hands clawed at the wolf's mangy arm, trying to break himself free, but he knew it was futile. He was exhausted from all the running, his chest hurt from the lack of air and his heart pounding. At this point he was ready to give up, and he let his arms fall, leaving the wolf to do as it pleased.

The wolf closed the distance, his snout inches from his face, Jaskier hearing the beast sniff his neck and hair, only to go to the other side of his head and inhale again. He swallowed hard and just prepared for his fate. The rumble in the wolf's throat was similar to the low purr of a cat, sniffing at him again, nose a hair's breath from touching his cheek. He screwed his eyes and waiting for the bite to his jugular and the life leave his body, but it never came. What did was a long, wet, hot tongue across his face.

Eye now wide with shock, he met the red tint of the werewolf's eyes and saw hostility, anger and what looked like hunger. The wolf licked again, now at his across his neck and his shivered, a sickly wave of disgust flashed through him, making his body twist internally. He tried to rear away from the licking, but the wolf's grasp was too firm on his collar. It slithered around his throat and up his jaw, not like the beast was tasting him, but savoring him.

The wolf lowered him to the ground, trying to lay him down, but getting frustrated by the obscene object on Jaskier's back. The beast tugged at the strap holding it to his body, and Jaskier cautiously raised his arms to let the monster yank it off of him. The wolf launched the lute away, the instrument banging a foul note as it crashed yards away.

Jaskier raised a brow, completely confused as to what's happening. Why was he still alive? Did he taste bad? Are werewolves just picky on how they eat people? Do they eat people? Before he could question the situation further, the wolf was back over him, arms crawling forward, Jaskier subconsciously leaning back until he was flat on the damp grass.

The wolf went back to licking his neck, putting pressure on his pounding pulse. Jaskier kept his hands on the ground at his hips, balled into fists, not wanting to move as he cringed away from the violating tongue. It slithered around his neck and across his shoulders, occasionally down his chest and collar bone. It lapped at his sweat as the wolf continued to hum above him, like it was enjoying itself. A claw came up to his chest, hooking into his shirt and pulling it open.

Jaskier tensed, more than he already was and felt his breathing stop. It didn't take much for the wolf to tear his shirt open, exposing his chest and stomach, worried that this was the perfect opportunity gut him. The paw slipped down his skin, as if mapping out his body as the tongue started sliding downward. The tongue tasted everything, his chest and ribs and his belly, making the brunet tremble unexpectedly.

Jaskier tried to push himself away as the wolf got closer to his crotch, hands shoving at the ground and sliding away, but the wolf growled harshly and stared him down. Jaskier stilled as the wolf's claws wrapped around his arms and kept him in place. He watched the beast sniff at his groin longer than it had his neck, feeling a sickening churn in his stomach.

What the fuck was happening?

The wolf raised quickly and barked, followed by a loud growl and its paws snatched at his hips and flipped him over. Jaskier yelped as he was roughly turned, back twisting uncomfortably and the wolf forced his hips up and held the man on his knees. He pushed himself up onto his hands and looked behind him, eyes full of fear at what the werewolf was doing to him. The clawed hands went to the hem of his trousers and hooked under them, easily pulling and tearing them in half. Jaskier yelped as his body was now completely exposed to the wolf.

The werewolf leaned down and ran his long, flat tongue across his ass, through the crease and over his hole. Jaskier gasped and fell forward, trying to yank his legs free to crawl away. He got a foot away before the wolf pulled him back by his calf, his outstretched hands digging into the ground, begging for leverage. The wolf hovered over him, growling low in his ear and slowly speaking, “Don't. Run. Again.”

Jaskier felt his voice shake, completely taken off guard that the monster spoke to him. He didn't even know these beasts could talk. He found his voice and asked, “Why?”

“Hush,” the wolf replied with a bark. The clawed hands clenching his thighs and spreading them apart. “The more you struggle the harder it'll be.”

“What th-”

His words were lost when the wolf further split his legs. One paw held his right leg to the ground while the other raised his left, stretching his leg as far as it would go, the brunet hissing in pain. The hot tongue returned to his body, swiping over his hole and perineum, his crease slick with drool. Jaskier balled his fists and tried to hold himself up, but the angle the wolf forced his back into prevented his movement with the searing pain in his back. He felt the fangs graze his skin, over his ass and dangerously close to his bits.

The tongue refused to cease its licking, tasting and exploring his backside like a juicy steak, that rumbling purr getting louder. The mouth moved until the slick appendage swiped over his balls and cradling his limp cock. The foreign feeling scared the hell out of him, especially when he felt a slight spark in his groin. He heard what sounded like a chuckle emit from the wolf's throat as the tongue swiped back up and savored his hole.

Jaskier grit his teeth as the tongue probed his entrance, the tip of the appendage slithered inside, Jaskier dropping his head to the ground, squirming his hips, but the wolf's hold was too strong. The beast wiggled his way inside Jakier's tight hole, groaning hungrily at the taste of him.

“Please stop,” Jaskier begged, tears started to form at the corners of his eyes.

He received no reply, gasping as the tongue worked its way deeper into his channel. He was shocked at the beast invaded him, filling his insides fuller than he ever expected to be in his life. Thrusting in and out, the tongue violating his innocence further with the bizarre sensation. He hated himself for feeling his cock reacting to the beast's actions on his hole, the blood slowly flooding him with desire.

There's no possible way he was getting turned on by this thing. None!

Venturing deeper, his hole spreading wider as the fat part of the werewolf's tongue plundered his ass. Jaskier release a frightened moan at the weird tingle in his gut, along with a harsh brush against a spot inside him he never knew existed. He cursed himself to the deepest pits of hell at wanting to feel that spot get brushed again. The wolf removed himself from Jaskier's hole, watching the drool ooze from him, only to shove his massive tongue back into the brunet's ass.

He did this over and over, Jaskier gasping breathlessly against the grass, hands tugging at the weeds and some tearing out of the ground. He hated how much he was enjoying the stimulation on his hidden sweet spot, his cock now at half mast. The wolf seemed to acknowledge this and would slip out just to lap at the cock, basking in the sweet scent of the man's impending arousal. Jaskier whimpered another helpless, “No,” but the wolf ignored it.

The wolf gave one final swipe over the loosened hole before raising up and lowering the man's leg, noting some of the tension leaving his body. Clawed hands reached up to the soft globes of his ass and spread them apart roughly, showing off all of his hard work to himself. Jaskier pushed himself up weakly, trying to turn and protest anything else the wolf might try to do, but the sight of a large, red appendage presenting itself from the wolf's crotch sent him into another state of shock.

“Please,” he begged, a stray tear falling down his cheek, his body ready to push forward and return to running away. “You can't do this. Don't–,” another tear fell.

He looked the wolf in the eyes as he cried, noting the frustration in them, along with lust. The pleas fell on deaf ears as the beast pressed his hips forward, heavy cock, nearly the thickness of Jaskeir's arm, rest on his crease. He thrust it back and forth, getting it slicked up and ready to enter him. Jaskier simply turned his head down, forehead digging into the mud, knowing there was nothing he could do other than let the beast violate him until it was satisfied or killed him.

The tapered head of the wolf's cock abruptly entered him, easily filling in all the room his tongue had made earlier. He heard the wolf quietly howl and start shoving inside violently, not bothering to let Jaskier adjust to his girth. The brunet heaved, his gut twisting as his organs are suddenly rearranged by the intrusion of the wolf's cock. Furred balls pressed against his ass, the man shivering in pain at the sudden expansion of his hole, swearing he was just torn in half.

Jaskier clinched his teeth so hard he insisted they were going to break, arms up with hands grasping for purchase in the mud. The wolf stilled for only a second before tugging his cock on and ramming it back in. Every rough thrust caused Jaskier to gasp in the night, tears overflowing now as his cries took over. His body jarred back and forth as he just laid there and allowed himself to be violated. There was no point in running, the wolf would just kill him quicker. He couldn't run if he wanted to, not with the vice grip the werewolf had on his hips, claws digging into his skin, along with the telltale feeling of bruising.

He felt his hips shift, not willing to look behind him to see what the beast was doing, but he could tell that the monster was raising from his knees and to his feet. His own knees lifted off the ground, his toes trying to find a spot to hold himself as the wolf did the rest, keeping him suspended and speared on his cock. With the new leverage the wolf had made for himself, his thrusts returned in full force, plunging deep and rough into the virgin tightness of the brunet.

The werewolf was ruthless, pounding into Jaskier as he whimpered and cried in disbelief that he was being assaulted by a monster. He begged the wolf to stop or to slow down, but the beast refused to listen or answer. The wolf just grunting and growling and he slammed his hips against the man's, massive paws using his body like a rag doll. He felt the push-pull into his gut, a strange tugging at his stomach, and as he looked down, weakly, between his arms, he could see a bulge undulating in his abdomen.

“Fuck,” Jaskier cried hoarsely, knowing that the bulge was caused by the massive wolf's cock.

A clawed hand shifted from his hip, grabbing him by his shoulder, thumb and forefinger slipping around his neck and threatening to choke him. The werewolf shoved his face into the ground again, keeping his ass up, and reigned hell on his ass. Jaskier swore his spine was going to snap from the twisted angle, another shriek of pain exiting his teeth worn lips. He bit into them so hard he drew blood, the taste of copper and earth staining his tongue. He'd never wanted to die so badly in his life, and he knew that a moment further from death was still too far away.

The wolf leaned over his back, panting maw exhaling hotly in his ear, making his skin crawl at the unwanted heat. The growls had turned harsh, as if the beast was fighting back a bark, and only started fucking into him harder. The cold nose nudged his ear, causing the brunet to flinch away, exposing his neck. He wasn't sure why he did, whether it was what the wolf wanted or him, but the bite away from ending his torment was in his grasp.

“Just end it!” Jaskier screamed, tears pouring down his face, blood dripping down his chin. “Please! I can't take it anymore!”

“Oh no,” the wolf snarled in his ear, Jaskier swearing he could hear it smiling, “We've got all night.” The monster raised and started fucking harder, clawing cutting into this skin, blood oozing down his leg and neck. “You're gonna be my favorite bitch!” the werewolf howled as he buried himself impossibly deep into the human.

Jaskier squealed at the white hot sting in his belly, scrubbing his face into the ground and chewing on anything that flooded his mouth. “Please!” he cried, knowing the pleas would go unheard. He felt something hard press against his hole, and much larger than the assaulting appendage fucking in and out of him. As the pace of the wolf became sporadic, he noticed the beast was trying to shove the hard object inside him.

“Wait!” Jaskier fought against the paw holding him down, arms flailing and reaching behind him, trying to stop the monster. “Stop! Don't do this!”

The wolf gave a barking laugh and snatched up his arms, holding them in a vice grip, yanking Jaskier's back into a sharp 'v.' The man cursed as his body was manhandled and cock pounding ruthlessly, the hardened object threatening to breach him. Tears of pain and fear streamed down Jaskier's face, hands squirming as he tried to worm himself free. He was standing on his toes, body raised too high as the wolf fucked up into him.

Suddenly, everything in Jaskier's mind went blank, the wolf howling above him as he stuffed his entire cock inside the man's hole. He'd never felt this level of pain before, his hole filled to the brim with a muscle so large he knew without a doubt his body was ruined. Why couldn't he have just died quickly instead of suffering this monstrous hell?

To make matters worse, the wolf grabbed at the back of his head, roughly jerking it to the side, exposing his neck. Jaskier lost all of his air as sharp, jagged fangs chomped down on his shoulder, the maw biting deep. His belly filled with warmth, the beast's cock throbbed inside of him, surely spilling his unwanted essence. The wolf released his mouth on Jaskier's neck, the man hissing in pain as the nighttime air stung his wounds.

“Fuck!” the wolf barked, snarling happily as he pumped his seed inside the man, licking lips of the blood he'd stolen. He lapped across the bite marks and rumbled, “I can't wait to fuck you again.”

Jaskier hung limply in the wolf's hold, barely able to keep his eyes open. He just wanted to die, let the maggots eat out his eyes and scavengers chew out his guts. It felt like hours that this beast was buried inside him, but in just a short few minutes, the muscle was deflating and the cock slip from his hole. The werewolf dropped Jaskier with a thud, the man's body still and lifeless. Jaskier's eyes were glassed over, red rimmed and broken, just staring into nothingness.

The wolf hovered over him, sniffing and chuckling, “Don't die on me now, the fun's just getting started.”

A monstrous bark echoed across the clearing, Jaskier uncaring of the second wolf's presence. The werewolf above him stepped away and growled at the intruder, standing in front of him like guarding a fresh kill. “Fuck off!” the rapist wolf snapped, “This one's mine!”

Everything moved to fast. Or slow? Jaskier couldn't tell. The sweet embrace of silence was overtaking him, his vision going dark and his body cold. There was another voice, he couldn't make out the words, and a flash of white and a spray of something warm across his back. He didn't care. He wanted to sleep.

And he didn't want to wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> No. He's not dead. Left the story open ended to, hopefully, continue where there will be a happy ending.


End file.
